To Be Honest
by Ochiba Konpeki
Summary: Kyle always thought that, out of all of them, Stan was the only truly sane one... Style, somewhat dark themes. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_Let's delve into madness, shall we..?  
><em>

**To Be Honest**

_It's easy to tell that Eric is insane._

_You only have to spend a few moments with him to understand that he is a very fragile person with extremely fragile mental health. He seemingly fluctuates between personalities, but if you know him well enough you would be able to tell he just fluctuated between moods. He has a very dangerous, obsessive personality._

_Kyle knows this._

_It's easy to tell Kenny is insane._

_Maybe it was his abusive parents. Maybe it was early exposure to alcohol. Maybe it was the continuous fluctuation between Earth, Heaven and Hell. Maybe. It doesn't particularly matter why, the point still remains that Kenny McCormick is absolutely batshit. He's extremely clingy and possessive and antisocial as well as selectively mute._

_Kyle knows this._

_It's not very easy to tell that Stan is insane._

_For all the world, Stan seems to be a smiling, easy-going, everyday teenager. Mediocre grades, football captain, et cetera, et cetera._

_Kyle always thought that Stan was the most sane of them all._

_How wrong he was..._

OoO

The library had always been a sanctuary to Kyle. He spent almost all of the time that wasn't sucked up by friends, family, school and sleep in the corner, curled up in a rocking chair that people knew better than to sit in, a book in hand. Last year, the librarian went ahead and posted a plaque on the wall declaring that the area was Kyle's.

Nobody was surprised when he got a job there the moment he was old enough. Mrs. McCarthy practically threw the uniform at him.

On weekends, Kyle worked from six to midnight. He used to love the shift, the calm silence of the library. Very few people came through after ten-thirty or so, so he was free to sit behind the counter and read or work.

Now he can't stand it.

His fingers twitched nervously, tears stinging his eyes from the unadulterated fear welling in his chest as he trembled, trying to get himself together as he watched the clock approach midnight.

It's been almost exactly one week.

Slowly, his frightened green eyes slid from the still door to the tragedy section, towards the back. A morbid smile quirked his lips. _How fucking appropriate._

Sighing slightly, he once again told himself that it was just a bad dream brought on by erratic blood sugar. Just a nightmare. He scooped up the pile of children's books sitting on the counter from earlier in the day when a daycare came in.

Instinctively, he clutched the books firmly to his stomach, walking as silently as possible towards the children's section. Once again, he glanced into the aisle just off the side from the arch leading into the brightly-colored room, wondering what was going through the manager's head when he put the erotica section next to the children's section. If one more bratty kid tried to check out smut, he swore he was gonna scream.

Sighing, he glanced at the title of the first book. Calico's Curious Kittens. A smile tugged at his lips. That was the first book he ever read all the way through without help.

He was tempted to crack it open but decided against it, delicately sliding it into it's designated place and spinning on his heel to put away a couple picture books. He worked purposely slowly, trying to take up the next twenty minutes so he didn't have time for a full-on panic attack.

As he slid the last book into place, a Magic Tree House book, he sighed, crossing his arms over his stomach as if he felt sick and leaning his head against the cool spines of the children's books on the too-high-for-kids shelves. He slid his eyes closed, murmuring softly, "Just a bad dream."

Tears pricked his eyes once more and he let them come, wondering who else had nightmares about such heinous things. About... About being violated. And hurt. Not necessarily physically, but mentally, emotionally. And if these dreams were so common, why did no one else break down like he was?

Why was no-one else afraid of the tragedy section?

"Why are you crying?"

Warm arms wrapped around his thin waist, pulling him gently against a large, familiar frame, hands slithering up under his shirt to caress his hips. His eyes widened, more tears filling his eyes and falling down his face as he shook, rendered paralyzed with the realization that it hadn't been a dream after all.

Lips met the side of his neck, a familiar head nudging his cheek to reveal more of his vulnerable skin. Subdued by his thoughts, Kyle allowed his head to tip sideways, shivering a little as those soft lips pressed butterfly kisses to his fragile skin, allowed his gentle attacker to press him slowly against the shelf, the wooden slabs pressing uncomfortably into his form at regular intervals. A harsh blush bloomed across his stricken face as the form behind him pressed his hips into his lower back.

The man behind him breathed hotly into his ear, making him shudder, and whispered lovingly, "I missed you. Did you miss me, princess?"

Kyle blinked slowly, feeling himself go limp under his attacker's words and hands. "I don't want this." he echoed himself from the previous incident, much calmer than he was a week prior. He couldn't quite bring himself to freak out. Kyle is a fast learner-he already accepted that this was going to happen regardless of what he wanted, and that he would be fine.

His attacker is very loving.

"I love you." There's that mantra. Kyle sobbed quietly as those hands, the ones he grew up holding and watched draw on lazy Sundays, slid up his chest to start unbuttoning his uniform.

"Don't do this." Kyle begged, leaning further into the books in front of him. "Please God, don't do this."

His attacker pressed smiling lips into his pulse as one of his invasive hands caressed his thighs, the other pressed below his collar bone, perhaps to feel his rapid, panicked heartbeat. "I love you so much..." he whispered.

Apparently, in his mind, that made everything okay.

Kyle cringed in shame and revulsion as the button to his pants was snapped open, the sound of the zipper too loud in the silent library.

"Stan..." he sobbed into his arms, tears rolling freely down his face. "Stan, stop..."

Stan did not stop. Of course not, why would he? Why should he listen to Kyle? Didn't they love each other?

OoO

Two silent boys knelt outside the library, gazing down into one of the many rooftop windows at the fascinating, erotic display their best friends were putting on in the children's section of the library as Stan rocked slowly and lovingly into his unwilling, crying best friend.

"Told you so." Kenny whispered, sucking on the end of one of his over-long locks of hair as he glanced around suspiciously for non-existent onlookers. Tonight was one of his talking nights. His sudden paranoia and the bags under his eyes indicated he was coming up on twenty-four hours without sleep. Eric reaffixed his eyes on the intimate pair in the library as he silently lamented that he only had six hours to knock the blond out if he didn't want to deal with his hallucinations.

"Whatever." he growled quietly, rubbing at the burn left on his wrist from earlier that day. It still stung pleasantly. "How come he gets to take the Jew and we don't?"

Kenny started to reply but got distracted for a moment as Stan abruptly picked up the pace, making Kyle cry out. "I'm sure he'll share if we ask nice..." the blond mused a moment later, glancing over his shoulder to the quiet wooded area behind them, weary of a non-existent noise he didn't really hear. He wanted to go inside...

As a matter of fact, both boys had half a mind to interrupt the duo.

"I don't want to share." the brunette whined selfishly, earning a look from his companion.

"None of us want to share him, fatass." Kenny snarled, baring his teeth. "But there's one Kyle and three of us."

At they fell silent, watching as the pair reached release at the roughly same time and Stan began to lovingly caress the exhausted boy's body, sliding out and picking him up to hold him tenderly against his still-clothed chest. He moved towards the table in the corner where the adults sat to watch their children and laid him down, stepping back to pull off his clothes properly.

"Is this making you hard too?" Kenny asked curiously, head cocked to the side inquisitively as they started in on round two-or rather, Stan started in on round two while Kyle stared at the ceiling and just sort of... Allowed himself to be forcibly loved.

"Eh." Eric sighed absently, not lifting his eyes from the 'show'. "I'm more jealous than aroused... And it's a little... _Slow _for my tastes."

Kenny snorted. "Fucking sadist."

Eric slapped him over the back of the head. "I like it rough." he corrected.

"_'I'm big boned.'_" the blond mocked quietly, eyes fixed on the sight below them once more, smiling softly at the way Stan was so agonizingly gentle, even while forcing his best friend. Interrupting Eric's angry huffing, he asked quietly, "Dude, is that rape or love?"

Eric cut off his anger, watching Stan kiss away Kyle's bitter tears. Slowly, he shrugged. "Why can't it be both?"

OoO

_Beautiful. I think so, anyway. Have you noticed that the controversy of noncon is one of my favorite things to write about? Kudos if you did._

_I might continue this. In the mean time, please visit my profile and vote in my poll to see what I'm working on next._

_**QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_You asked, I so graciously gave._

OoO

**To Be Honest-In the Aftermath of Devastation**

Kyle rubbed at his teary eyes, gazing up at his super best friend. Stan smiled at him and pulled him closer to the edge of the table to hug him, stepping forward to stand between his legs. Suddenly, Kyle felt awfully small.

The noirette eased him off the table carefully, supporting his shaking form with firm arms around his waist until Kyle could lock his knees well enough to stand on his own.

Stan didn't pay him much mind, choosing instead to busy himself with redressing, lightly humming The Song That Never Ends. Kyle leaned back against the table behind him, chewing his lower lip in contemplation. His mind felt fuzzy and his skin was prickling oddly. Vaguely, he tried to make a mental checklist of his symptoms. He had a headache, he was shaking, he felt weak and tired, he was sweating, his heart wasn't slowing down... But was it low blood sugar or having just been raped?

Feeling rather trivial-especially considering he was not yet dressed-he slowly looked up to ask Stan for his glucometer only to find it inches away from his face, held out by a grinning teen. "You're shaking, princess." he teased playfully as the 'princess' slowly accepted the device and and pressed it to the tip of his finger.

A moment later, Stan turned around to find his best friend staring listlessly at the bead of blood gathered on the tip of his finger. Grimacing guiltily-he should've known better than to exert Kyle so much without making sure his insulin had been adjusted properly-he gently took the glucometer and checked the rates.

Forty-two. Hm.

"Ky," he urged gently, setting aside the glucometer, "Where can I get you some sugar?"

The redhead blinked slowly at him. "Backpack." he muttered spitefully after a few moments. "Behind the counter."

Soon the raven returned with a bottle of Reli On glucose tablets, which he offered weakly to the quiet diabetic. Lazily, he popped two tablets, grimacing a bit at the taste. He hated grape flavoring. A few minutes later, though, he felt better and another test revealed that he was back in safe range.

"... Clothes?" he asked meekly. Stan smiled at him again, making him cringe internally, and tossed him a pair of boxers and his jeans, leaving him to get dressed as he put away Kyle's diabetes paraphernalia.

The more clothes he put on, the better he felt, the more protected he felt. _I'm prepared now,_ he told himself as he bent down to tie his converse, _I can handle it if he tries it again._

What could he do, though, really? He wasn't particularly strong, especially against the football captain, and he was too small to fight back. It's hard to gain weight between following the Kashrut and being diabetic as well as being predispositioned (on his father's side, anyway) for petiteness._ I'm fast,_ he reassured himself as he stood, staring steadfastly at his feet.

But however fast he may be, he made no move to run when Stan drew him in close at the door, holding him tightly, lovingly against himself and swaying him slowly. And when Stan kissed him Kyle allowed himself to be kissed.

He let Stan lock up for him and drive him home and escort him to the door. He let him come in when he asked, let him sleep in his bed and hold him entirely too closely to be appropriate. He didn't put up a fight when he fucked him again.

Kyle was never good at saying no-especially to Stan.

OoO

Life went on, amazingly enough.

Stan, despite the horrible things he did to his super best friend during their sleepovers, or at the end of Kyle's shift at the library, or in the locker room after school, smiled and went about being the school jock and Kyle's best friend as usual. Many people noticed that he seemed happier, but when they asked him why, he just grinned even wider.

Only the people close to Kyle noticed his skittishness and the way he flinched from his super best's touch, and they already knew exactly why, so in the end, nobody questioned him. He quietly started taking his long-abandoned anti-depressants once more to ward off his suicidal contemplations and started reading more and more.

He stopped going to both synagogue and the Jewish Culture club meetings. When asked why by a fellow classmate, he very calmly stated, "There is no god worth worshiping." and went back to his schoolwork.

His mother tried to put him in counseling. After three sessions of Kyle staring pensively at the therapist, she gave up.

Kyle cut himself exactly once, but the ramifications of that-from Stan's anger to his mother's mental breakdown to Kenny's panic attack to Ike's speech about self worth to his teachers' intervention to Cartman's insistence that next time he wanted to hurt, he should come to him-prevented him from trying again.

But he lived. He even smiled sometimes.

I can sum up everything I know about life in three simple words: _It goes on._

He was just barely starting to level out and start functioning again. It was a shame, really, that the demonic duo's plan should come to fruition at such a hopeful time in Kyle's recovery, but it did. After two months of Kenny subtly pulling on Kyle's strings and Cartman carefully planning everything out, they struck.

OoO

The plan worked so well it made them nervous. Kyle didn't hesitate to agree to helping Kenny with his geometry, and he only sighed a little when Cartman announced he would be tagging along as well.

Stan went to football practice. The Broflovski's were gone to a hockey tournament, as planned, so they had the house to themselves. Kyle didn't bat an eye at their request to work in the basement.

The rest was easy.

OoO

Kyle shook with sobs, agony coursing through his battered body as he finally collapsed against the floor, curling in on himself as he whimpered. Gentle hands -the hands of his rapist- glided softly over his body, trying to find the best way to grab him without causing him to lash out. The redhead tensed, crying out as he was lifted carefully from the ground and pulled into his attacker's lap, held tightly to his broad chest. The brunette smiled pityingly, leaning down to brush kisses along his victim's tear-streaked face, murmuring sweet promises into his ear.

"That's how it's done, Kenneth." the man murmured smugly. Said blond snorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

Tonight was not one of Kenny's talking nights.

The part of Kyle's brain that urged him to be a storyteller, a bard like his great-grandparents and their parents and their parents' parents, dramatically put into words the events he'd just suffered through. _Only two months after being victimized for the first time, our hero finds himself brutally desecrated by not his best friend like the previous..._ Fuck, he'd lost count. Rightclick, drag, leftclick, cut.

_Only two months after being victimized for the first time, our hero finds himself brutally desecrated by not his best friend, but his worst enemy. Perhaps this is his breaking point._

Indeed, Kyle had tried several times to make himself pass out, but it seemed each new morbidly fascinating, agonizing sensation that attacked his nerve endings were hellbent on keeping him conscious and alert.

As he tried desperately to recover, he wished Stan were there to hold him instead of Cartman. Because even though Stan raped him as well, at least he was nice about it, however odd of a thing that is to say. Where Cartman's hands bruised, Stan's caressed. Where Cartman's words stung, Stan's comforted. Where Cartman's thrusts hurt and made him bleed, Stan's brought him reluctant pleasure and rarely hurt for long... ...And Stan never made him bleed.

Somehow, this-this _rape_, this sort of rape, so much more clear and easy to define, it was just as humiliating as being raped lovingly, as receiving pleasure from his rapist. He'd never really thought this horrible thing could vary so dramatically from rapist to rapist. Rape is rape is rape. Or is it? What is rape? If you asked the dictionary, it would tell you that rape is the 'ultimate violation of self.' But was Stan raping him?

Fuck, was Cartman?

He had a bad feeling that he would be just as out of whack for the next few days as he usually was from Stan.

_Maybe more,_ he thought as Kenny smirked teasingly and gracefully signed something to Cartman, who rolled his eyes huffily and loosened his grip on their victim enough that the blond could pick him up easily, carrying him gently over to a random old kitchen chair that Mrs. Broflovski had stashed in the basement for whatever reason.

Kenny looked him in the eye as he fucked him, and Kyle would later realize, with a laugh choked by sobs, neither Stan nor Cartman had the sheer audacity to meet his gaze when they raped him.

Maybe Kenny was the most insane of them all.

OoO

_No words. My brain is so fucked._

_I'm thinking one more installment. Eventually, I'll put it all together into a single short story._

**_QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!_**


	3. Chapter 3

_Ha! I _can _finish things! Take that! The scene with Cartman was based off of a poem I wrote called "Lie To Me." The song is Adelitas Way's Sick and I actually discovered it AFTER writing the first two parts and it inspired me to finish this._

**To Be Honest-In The End**

A motionless figure was just barely visible sprawled across the mattress in the darkness of Kyle's bedroom, shrouded in shadow. Stan paused in the doorway, an instinctive knot of worry tightening in his chest. "Ky?" he called hesitantly, met only with further silence. His stomach dropped and he swallowed nervously, stepping farther into the room.

"Kyle?" His face was still and expressionless despite the streaks of tears sliding down his face, squeezing out from beneath his gently shut eyelids. Stan sat carefully down onto the bed, thinking his best friend must be asleep. He was proven wrong when bloodshot emerald eyes flickered open, fixing on the noirette's face.

"You weren't in school today, princess." he murmured softly, moving to stroke his wild wine-colored curls. His expressionless eyes fluttered closed, a pained sigh escaping his lips.

"Can't walk." he rasped. Stan's eyes widened, worry increasing tenfold in a matter of seconds. "You're that sick?" he demanded a little too loudly.

Slowly, the ginger shook his head. "Hurt." he whispered. "Fell."

"Where are you hurt?" the noirette interrogated, already pulling the sheets down away from his best friend's neck to get at him. He froze, eyes fixed on the angry-looking welt on over his collar, half-covered by his shirt.

Kyle's lips pulled into a sardonic smile. "_Everywhere_."

OoO

It didn't take Stan very long to come to the conclusion that Kyle had been raped, even with all the blood and semen washed away. He was covered in suspicious bruises and bite marks and, like he said, he couldn't walk.

"Who did this to you?" he sobbed harshly, tears pouring down his face as he surveyed his 'princess's' battered, naked body. Kyle was still smiling, even as tears trekked down his face. Weakly, and cringing with pain all the while, he stretched his frail, bruised arms up to encircle the raven's neck, pulling him down until his cheek rested against his chest. Stan settled down carefully, shifting most of his weight to the side of Kyle's fragile form, and cried softly into his chest as the redhead gently stroked his back and hair.

After several long moments, Kyle finally answered his question, voice still hoarse from screaming, "You did. You did this to me."

He lifted his head to look at the redhead fully. "I didn't do this..." he whimpered, shaking his head violently as he moved onto his hands and knees over the redhead.

Kyle grinned even wider. "It's all your fault. You caused this. They saw that you had me, they saw that I could be taken, and they took me. They took me from you, just because you had me. They hurt me and it's all your fault. _All your fault_-"

Trembling violently, Stan cut the hysterical victim off, crashing their lips together violently. "You're mine!" he cried brokenly as his lips tore at his already broken skin and his hands worked undo his own jeans. He leaned down to the redhead's ear and breathed shakily into it, causing his unwilling lover to shudder. "You're mine." he muttered as he positioned himself to take him. "I'll show you, Ky-You're _mine_!"

Kyle screamed.

OoO

As soon as he was able to pull himself together, Stan began to do everything in his power to find who had hurt his princess and kill them. Everyone was under suspicion-everyone except Kenny and Cartman, whom he immediately enlisted the help of. The pair quietly lead Stan away from their trail and it never even occurred to him to suspect his two closest friends, especially with no information forthcoming from the victim himself.

It wasn't long after Kyle was back on his feet that Kenny cornered him again. Like with Stan, he went quietly this time around and was spared almost all marks. Stan never found out.

Now, Cartman, on the other hand...

OoO

The evidence was everywhere. Crumpled, ripped clothes strewn across the floor, a knocked over couch, a broken picture frame, random blood stains across the carpet and furniture... What made the previous events even more apparent was a certain ginger Jew's ravaged body, bruised and bloody, lying curled into his attacker's side. The brunette tightened his grip on his victim, glancing around his wrecked living room with a strange mix of horror and satisfaction.

Cartman turned onto his side slowly and placed his free hand on Kyle's frail chest, revealing the frantic claw marks littering his back. A couple were smeared with dried blood.

Kyle's eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought to reclaim his breath. Bruises, lovebites, cuts and gashes littered his skin, many from the intense chase that took place earlier, their own strange form of hardcore foreplay. Blood and cum pooled in the natural dips of his body, drying slowly.

"Beautiful." Cartman whispered in a tone edging dangerously on loving. "You sick fuck." the redhead responded shakily, not moving otherwise. The sadist smirked.

"I'm in charge, Jew." he reminded his victim. Kyle chuckled darkly, cracking his eyes open to survey his rival. "So I've heard." he muttered with a bit of wry humor entirely inappropriate for the situation at hand. Cartman chuckled.

The brunette sat up, running a hand through his hair. "We fucked this place up." he commented, standing and looking around. Kyle attempted to push himself up on shaky limbs but fell back with a quiet gasp of pain, earning a sadistic smirk from his rival, who leaned down and scooped him up roughly. The redhead tensed up, inhaling sharply and slamming his eyes shut as his injuries were jostled. Cartman's chest swelled with guilt but he pushed it away, trying not to make it apparent that he was being careful from then on.

Cartman paused in front of his bed, debating whether or not he should clean his toy up first, but quickly decided that he could wash his sheets later and set the battered boy down, grabbing a blanket and tossing it over him only to slide in next to him a moment later.

They laid in silence, both nearly dozing, Cartman holding him possessively and Kyle lazily making a list of his injuries. A long while later, Cartman ripped the smaller teen from his near-sleeping state with a quiet demand.

"Tell me you love me."

Kyle opened his eyes slowly, turning his head to gaze into his rival's miraculously open, vulnerable eyes, watching him earnestly. Suddenly, he wondered why he was still here, cuddling with his rapist, when he should be doing history homework, or, you know, preserving his sanity.

"I'd be lying." he murmured softly. Instantly, Cartman's face closed off, eyes hardening. He laughed darkly, retorting resentfully yet cheerfully, "Then lie to me."

"I love you, Eric."

But was he lying?

OoO

Sometimes Kenny's mp3 dock gets stuck and plays the same song over and over randomly. Now was one of those times.

_I'm so sick of me,_

_being sick of you,_

_And the way you look,_

_all the things you do,_

_You drive me crazy,_

_drive me crazy_

Just like before when it was just Stan, Kyle fell into a rhythm that he somehow managed to keep up with that allowed him to simply get used to being used, loved and raped regularly by his three best friends. Stan still hadn't found out about Kenny and Cartman and when they got too rough, Stan assumed the marks were from a still-anonymous attacker that he spent much of his free time trying to identify.

_Sick of being broke,_

_can't pay the rent_

_I'm about to snap,_

_I can't handle this_

_I'm going crazy,_

_going crazy_

_(going crazy)_

It was currently exactly three months, four days and sixteen hours after Stan's original attack. It was evident in the dried tear track across his increasingly thin face that he still cried every time, even though he had started learning how to participate. How to please.

_If you're sick like me_

_There's no stopping now,_

_Try to break it up_

_And just let it out_

_If I was sick like you,_

_I would feed the fire_

_I would light it up_

_And watch it all drop down_

Kyle was currently naked, sprawled across Kenny's ratty sheets and absently petting the mass of blond locks resting on his frail chest and silently praying that he hadn't left any apparent marks.

_I'm so sick of my life_

_It's the same old shit,_

_Try to make it bend,_

_But it never gives_

_Look what you made me_

_(what you made me)_

The same song had been playing for a half hour. Kenny had been out for forty-five minutes.

_Well I hate my boss,_

_He's a little bitch_

_If he keeps it up,_

_I'll make him quit_

_Or I'll go crazy_

_I'm going crazy_

Kyle checked his phone. He was due at Stan's house and probably in his bed in an hour.

_If you're sick like me_

_There's no stopping now,_

_Try to break it up_

_And just let it out_

_If I was sick like you,_

_I would feed the fire_

_I would light it up_

_And watch it all drop down_

_(And watch it all drop down)_

Suddenly, it occurred to him that he didn't have to go.

_I'm so sick of me,_

_being sick of you,_

_And the way you look,_

_all the things you do,_

_You drive me crazy,_

_drive me crazy_

He could get up, get dressed, and skip town. He could go down to the police station and file a domestic abuse and rape report. He had enough evidence to get all three of them put in an asylum-he knew where their journals were. He could tell his mother what had been going on. He could kill himself. He could kill them.

_If you're sick like me_

_There's no stopping now,_

_Try to break it up_

_And just let it out_

_If I was sick like you,_

_I would feed the fire_

_I would light it up_

_And watch it all drop down_

But he knew he'd do none of these things.

_If you're sick like me,_

_There's no stopping now_

_There's no stopping now_

_Watch it all drop down_

_If you're sick like me_

_Then you're sick like me_

He would go to Stan's. He would allow himself to be lead upstairs and laid back on the bed. He'd let Stan kiss him and caress him and undress him and touch him and fuck him. He would cry as he wrapped his legs around behind his back and start moving his hips just to make Stan's arms shake, just to make him feel good.

_I'm so sick of me,_

_being sick of you,_

_And the way you look,_

_all the things you do,_

_You drive me crazy,_

_drive me crazy_

After Stan passes out, he would go home and curl up on his bed and cry until Cartman snuck in through his window, anxious to see how loud he could make him scream. And by the time Cartman would be done with him, he'd be shaking from emotion and exertion and he'd pass out, left to the mercy of his rival.

_Sick of being broke,_

_can't pay the rent_

_I'm about to snap,_

_I can't handle this_

_I'm going crazy,_

_going crazy_

_(going crazy)_

But he didn't have to, not really.

_If you're sick like me_

_There's no stopping now,_

_Try to break it up_

_And just let it out_

_If I was sick like you,_

_I would feed the fire_

_I would light it up_

_And watch it all drop down_

"Is it rape?" he asked no-one, everyone, the God he didn't believe in.

_I'm so sick of my life_

_It's the same old shit,_

_Try to make it bend,_

_But it never gives_

_Look what you made me_

_(what you made me)_

"Do I want this?"

_Well I hate my boss,_

_He's a little bitch_

_If he keeps it up,_

_I'll make him quit_

_Or I'll go crazy_

_I'm going crazy_

Nothing answered him.

_If you're sick like me_

_There's no stopping now,_

_Try to break it up_

_And just let it out_

_If I was sick like you,_

_I would feed the fire_

_I would light it up_

_And watch it all drop down_

_(And watch it all drop down)_

An hour later, he left, music echoing hauntingly in his mind. And instead of doing any of the things he had thought of to save himself, he made his way to Stan's.

_I'm so sick of me,_

_being sick of you,_

_And the way you look,_

_all the things you do,_

_You drive me crazy,_

_drive me crazy_

Why?

_If you're sick like me_

_There's no stopping now,_

_Try to break it up_

_And just let it out_

_If I was sick like you,_

_I would feed the fire_

_I would light it up_

_And watch it all drop down_

Because, to be honest, he was more insane than the other three combined.

_If you're sick like me,_

_There's no stopping now_

_There's no stopping now_

_Watch it all drop down_

_If you're sick like me_

_Then you're sick like me_

OoO

_So there you have it! PLEASE tell me if you were convinced, even for a second, that Cartman was the most insane of them all during the Kyman scene._

_**QUESTION, COMMENTS, CONCERNS? REVIEW!**  
><em>


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